#i feel so nervous posting gifs here idk what my deal is goodbye

[whereslouis]

Conflicted Louis // ep.11

[nincompoopydoo]

DEBRIS AND MISERY

THE A-TEAM ; PART 7 / ?

PAIRING: Loki Laufeyson x Female!Reader WORD COUNT: 3.3k SUMMARY: Now stranded on Lamentis with two of the worst variants, you find it difficult to decide whether Loki is potentially empathetic to others around him. A/N: I’m so sorry I haven’t updated in awhile and for posting this slow-moving and kinda uneventful chapter but I promise you, it’s vital for the next chapter as it explains a few things. Please tell me what you think so far and maybe theories? (idk if yall have any lol) gif from this gifset by @kamalaskhans WARNINGS: Swearing. Loki being a jerk. Loki and Sylvie support my writing through ko-fi💖 MASTERPOST ; MASTERLIST

Vertigo strikes you more often than you enjoy. The sensation of everything that encompasses, spinning in tandem with your mind. It’s the work you deal with that constantly sends your brain reeling because the complexity of time travel and time itself sometimes becomes too much to handle. Yet, this isn’t vertigo caused by an existential crisis. It’s nausea from the throbbing gash on your cheek and the numbness of your entire face from the fall through the time door.

For a split second, as your body surges through the door in mid-air, you have a vision, a series of flashing images—crimson eyes blinking before you, the sea, the Sun and fire.

Then, it’s gone and you land with a loud thump.

Your head hurts. Your face hurts. Everything hurts.

A groan escapes your lips, muffled with your face to the ground. You attempt to seize yourself up but immediately halt as your hand seems to come into contact with a shirt-like material. Too soft for it to be the ground unless you are on a mattress. Nothing seems to make sense anyway because a second ago, you had a knife to your throat and another, you are falling.

Deciding that maneuvering in the darkness of your shut eyes isn’t going to give you answers, they flutter open, adjusting to the lightness and hues of your surroundings. Then, every muscle of yours freezes with the realization that it is not the ground you had landed on as you meet another’s eyes with the same stricken gaze, staring back at you. Loki, in a rather unfortunate position, lays beneath you.

Momentarily, time passes like a goddamn laggard.

You can hear and feel every ragged breath he takes. Suddenly, you find yourself swallowing.

What a great time to stab him in the chest if you had a knife right now.

Yet, the moment passes as the tension severely thickens and your anxiety starts to creep onto you with the sudden awareness of your unknown surroundings. Purplish hues can never be good. You continue to seize yourself up in the effort to get back on your feet albeit legs feeling weak when you unceremoniously jab his rib with your elbow and you hear Loki wince from below you.

“Woman! Why are your elbows so sharp?!” Loki shrieks through a series of grunts. In a swift movement, his hands are on either side of your shoulders, shoving you off him. You land hard on your back, head slamming onto something metallic as it clangs with the impact. You groan, hand flying to your head as you eye the God with sharp eyes. “Ow!” you yell but then hear the same exclamation echo from another’s lips—the fugitive variant. You seemed to have kicked her in the knee.

In your peripheral vision, there’s a certain glint that catches your eyes. It’s the tempad, sitting idly amongst the dark gravel. Before you could even begin to pull yourself up from the ground, you are being hauled once more as the blonde climbs over you to reach for the device. But, Loki is quick to grab her by the foot, yanking her away with force.

“Get off my foot!” she growls as Loki attempts to make an expeditious crawl towards the device. He manages to snag it but, the Goddess hoists his head onto a nearby desk with a loud clang.

She already has it within her grasp as you’re struggling to lift yourself.

“Goodbye, variants.” she spits, voice course. If it weren’t for your throbbing migraine and the sting from the open wound along your cheek, you would have properly realized she referred to you as a variant. Well, she’s not wrong to a certain extent.

Yet, she’s still here and no timedoor appears.

“You’re outta juice!” Miss Minutes’ American Southern accent mechanically echoes from the tempad in an almost eerily way followed by repetitive low beeps. You watch her repeatedly stab the screen with slightly wide panicked eyes. “It’s not working,” she says, expression growing anxious with every passing minute.

Loki manages to gracefully stand on his own two feet, even after a brutal hit to his skull, and unexpectedly bends over to you and offers an outstretched hand. You don't say anything, taking it as he hauls you up with a hand to your back as leverage. In an attempt to steady yourself, you instinctively grab his shoulder

Then, you find yourself being yanked by the sleeve and a knife to your throat once again.

She has a scowl imprinted on her face, eyes blazing with frustration and rage.

“Give me your tempad,” she snarls, face close to yours. You can feel the edge of the knife grazing your neck with every inhale. A nervous laugh escapes your lips, eyeing the shine of the blade. “Do you really want to do that?”

For a moment, her face falls, yet it’s gone the next second. She pushes the blade closer. If you breathe, there’s going to be blood. “Give me your tempad or I’ll slice your throat,” she threatens and with your erratic heart pounding in your chest, you manage to cry out.

“I don’t have a tempad!”

“She doesn’t have a tempad!”

You and Loki exclaimed synchronically and shared a look. As far as you were concerned, only Renslayer and Mobius knew about the confiscation of your tempad because it was embarrassing enough to be the only analyst to be called to court. You have so many questions but right now, you should be thinking about how your one slash away from being decapitated.

You feel his grip on your back tighten and within a split second, everything changes around you.

Your surroundings have changed, her knife is no longer on your neck. Magically, you have been transported across the room, facing her back. Loki releases his hold on you and shoves the blonde to the side as she tumbles into a storage shelf.

Your stomach churns unannounced, feeling like the floors are spinning below you as you try to wrap around the fact that you were on the other end of the room a while ago and now you’re here. Transportation or whatever the hell it was, made your insides feel like it's about to spew out of your mouth.

“Never do that again,” you groan, holding your abdomen. Meanwhile, Loki has plucked the tempad from the ground and the other doesn’t seem to want to take the hint that fighting isn’t going to do any good to the situation.

“Just give it back to me. You don’t even know how to recharge it.”

“Well, I do.” you chirp and she eyes you with a scowl. “And so does he. You’re not the only tech-savvy Loki.”

“Don’t call me that!”

You and Loki shoot a bewildered look her way.

“Tech-savvy?”

You swing your head to look at the God who shares an expression equivalent to your own, silently raising the only reasonable question at the moment: What the fuck?

Once again, both of your minds seem to be working in tandem as the two of you echo the same question at the same time like two peas in a fucking pod.

“No. A Loki.” Her gaze shifts between the two of you as she shifts in her stance ready to pounce. Yet, as she does, you see that flicker of green magic appear. In a blink of an eye, the tempad disappears. You suddenly grow worried.

“Loki, where’s tempad?—”

“So, you’re just fully a magician then?” The blonde cuts you off with a mocking tone, snarl directed towards Loki. You watch how his shoulders stiffen at her words.

“Fine. For my next trick,” from his grasp emerges a pair of daggers. “I’ll make you disappear.”

“Woah, Woah. Okay. Now, hang on—” as you were forcing yourself between the two, a shot of flame whizzes just about an inch away from your face, from above. You yelp at the sudden streak of fire right before your eyes as you watch it extinguish to nothing once it hit the ground. The three of you stagger back at the surprise of it.

“Is that one of your powers?”

“Where did you send us?”

Curiosity gets the better of you as you crouch down to inspect the hole in the ground. There are chunks of rock with pieces of dull metallic material amongst the debris. You recognize it in the way it shines under the light that beams through from above—it’s Iridium.

You know exactly where you are.

“You have got to be fucking me.”

Abruptly standing, your hands fly up to hold the sides of your head, face morphing to sheer horror, eyes are wide and breaths deepened. The two Lokis stare at you with slightly anxious looks. You attempt to pull back the wisps of your hair that caress your bloody and bruised cheeks to try and diffuse the growing panic and anger sizzling in your chest.

You feel compressed, stuffy. It doesn’t help when you have two pairs of eyes staring you down while you have a meltdown. So, with the turn of your heel, you trudge out of what you finally figured to be one of the fleets of tents as part of a relief camp. The two variants trail behind you.

A sky filled with light bursts and streaks of asteroids and planetoids. In the foreground, the planet Lamentis grows immensely, its structure severely fractured. The collapse of Lamentis is the ultimate apocalypse and the three of you might as well be dead by now. The ground beneath you rumbles as asteroids shoot towards you from above like flaming arrows. Your head begins to throb all over again at the apocalyptic sight.

“You idiot! This is Lamentis-1!” You hear the woman scream as Loki bickers back. “I don’t know what that means!”

You whip your head to the two of you, teeth-gritting and nose flared—you’re practically seething. “We’re on a moon and that planet is about to crash into and destroy all of us! No one makes it out of here and it’s your fault we’re stranded here!” Your anger is directed towards the two but Loki very well knows it’s specifically him. He swallows, attempting to hide his sudden guilt. “So, fuck you. Fuck both of you—”

“Oh, isn’t that just fantastic—”

“Watch out!”

The woman hollers and suddenly, you are being pushed aside as a meteorite darts, punctuated by a screech that makes your ears ring. Then, you find yourself being guided by firm grips to your arms, dragging you as the three of you sprint across the area. You seek temporary shelter under a tanker, crouching behind its tire. The two variants continue to bicker but to you, their voices are muffled as all you hear is intense ringing.

The fugitive variant abruptly stands, extending her finger to a rundown mining shack. “There!” and once again, much to your feet’s dismay, you’re sprinting through a goddamn warzone. From experience, you know you’re not a fast runner—the whole physicality to it just doesn’t match up to your capabilities. So, you trail behind them, struggling to catch up yet, despite your efforts, the universe tends to play your enemy once again as a meteorite strikes you in the arm.

You collapse to the ground and your right ear starts to ring again, louder than before. You don’t hear your shrill scream, cutting through the noise of the eruptions—it’s just a high-pitched tone drumming in your ears and the excruciating pain burning in your arm.

Loki appears before you, barking words you can’t hear. All you do is grip your arm, pressing into the wound. There’s definitely blood, you feel it surging within your fingers. Indefinitely, you feel his hand sharply tug at the crook of your unhurt arm, hauling you up to stand. His other arm curls around your back, pulling you with him in an attempt to make a run for it towards the shack. Overhead, you see her running, whipping her head around to glance at you. She looks afraid.

The ringing finally halts and through all the wailing like war cries ricocheting across the crater, you hear his voice, ragged and low. It's only for your ears. “Come on, just a little more—”

You’re close to shelter with the blonde a few steps ahead of you. You unconsciously knot your hand against the fabric of his jacket, as if it will conjure any lasting energy left in you push yourself forward, and prevent you from thinking about your bleeding arm.

Eventually, the three of you make it to the shack, slamming the door shut once you’re stepping into the place with the sound of muted metallic thunks. You free yourself from his hold, sliding down the door and to your feet, feeling weak as ever. Your eyes flicker to the wound and it's unexpectedly huge and crimson. You groan, ignoring how the constant arguing of the two variants has become white noise to you but right now, all you need is some goddamn silence.

“Would you two just shut up?” Their pathetic squabble comes to an abrupt stop at your words. You then fish out a handkerchief, from your back pocket, weakly waving it towards your bleeding arm. “—And help me out here?”

The blonde’s snarl returns, “And why would we even help you?”

Loki turns to her with a surprised look. “We? So, we are a team—”

“Shut up—”

“Because let’s face it. The two of you are pathetic liars and you don’t actually know how to charge the tempad. So, help me out here before I start losing more blood than I should and you’ll have no way off this moon.” There’s silence and all you do is concentrate on your breathing as the two of them just stand there, staring, thinking. They share a look. The quiet passes in a moment, Loki surprisingly steps towards you and goes to crouch down to your level. He plucks the handkerchief from your grasp and ties a firm knot.

“Does this mean you’re not planning on killing us?”

You snort, gaze shifting between the two. “Not for now.”

You don't notice the flicker of green emerging from his fingertips as he holds his palm against your wound. You don't notice how the pain nearly subsides at his touch.

—

The golden cocktail glass mocks you with the lack of alcoholic liquid. It shines under the pretty and obscure chandelier above the circular bar where a bartender shuffles her way around. It also manages to reflect the daze of your expression and the flying wisps of your hair that drifts with every passing elite Lamentian adorned with some fancy hat and shiny heels. They seem to move at an obnoxious prissy speed. Though the thought of every being on this moon is about to die and you too might join them in the apocalypse, it somehow comforts you to think that these rich and elite groups, prioritized to enter the evacuation ark, will be joining the others as well.

The trek from the crater to the train had been nothing but eventful. You kept your mouth shut for most of the time, not wanting to lose your energy over two varaints who can’t seem to get along for once. From the woman who blasted the two for harassing her and Loki’s disguise to enter the train, heading for Shuroo, you wonder if this was all worth it.

You also learn that the woman goes by Sylvie. Not Loki.

Strange.

Right now, you aren’t too worried about the major possibility of dying. As much as you hate the two Loki variants that forcefully brought to the current situation you’re in, you know, from working with several variants of the Asgardian prince, Lokis do not die. But, will you? It’s a question better left unanswered.

Loki appears beside you, elbow propped up on the bar, leaning towards it as he faces you with an oddly sickly grin. It’s nearly amusing when you notice how Sylvie and Loki are entirely different from each other, one being much more aloof than the other, yet hold equivalence as well. At the moment, the difference between the two is obvious because you are very sure Loki is as intoxicated as you are while Sylvie has gone off to dream world by the corner of the lounge.

At least you only have to deal with one for the moment.

“You should really stop drinking,” you say, taking a swig from the martini glass. Loki snorts, curiously watching you in a slight daze. “Then, I must call you a hypocrite.” You scoff, not merely paying any mind to his usual antics and clever counters. You spare him a glance before lifting the cocktail glass to rest upon your lips, “Always so perceptive about everyone but yourself.”

Amid his drunken stupor, he nearly hears his mother with every articulation of those words. He is yet to admit of his amazement for your unmatching traits to your personality—so wise yet so outrageously reckless. Your mind is powerful but you don’t tend to use it very well. Loki merely hums, deciding to disregard his surprise, and takes a seat beside you on the barstool. You don’t shift or flinch away when his shoulder brushes against yours.

“Untrue. I know nothing about you,” he says, glancing your way in his periphery, “And that is because you never let me.” Your laugh comes off more like a puff of air, hinted with amusement. “It’s not that. There is nothing to know about me. I’m not very interesting, unlike you and your variants.”

Loki turns to you, lips pursed into a smile that’s knowing and somehow charming. “Don’t be so modest. You are a part of the most powerful bureaucratic organization in the universe. You must have been to many places, seen many things...” he trails off, watching the deepening furrow of your brows. You turn in your seat to properly face him this time, “And why does it matter?” You eye him suspiciously as he briefly raises his palms in defense. “It doesn’t. I was just...curious.”

You shift in your seat, arm now propped up on the bar. “Well, curiosity did kill the cat.”

“But satisfaction brought it back.”

Silvertongue. You narrow your eyes.

“I’m surprised you know that.”

Loki shrugs, gesturing to the bartender for another cup while you carelessly decide he isn’t worth babysitting for now. The alcoholic drink arrives and he takes an unceremonious shot.

“I think you should really go easy—”

He scoffs, “You sound a lot like Thor.”

You’re frowning again.“You’re drunk.”

“And you’re a mewling quim.”

You’re surprisingly calm at his words. He immediately regrets it, thoroughly blaming the alcohol on his once sharp mind. Though your stare is outright intimidating.

“You know, there’s this ancient poem—Hávamál. You might be familiar with it. Hávamál is said to present advice and wisdom from Odin’s very lips. With your current behavior, a particular stanza comes to mind,” you say, voice hinted with cynicism. He knows of Hávamál but with the current scatter of his mind, it’s a lot harder to remember the words of the specific lines of the poem.

“Humour me.” are the words that leave his lips. They are challenging.

You don’t take your eyes off him as you speak lowly, “Er-a svo gott sem gott kveða öl alda sonum, því að færra veit er fleira drekkur síns til geðs gumi”

Less good than they say for the sons of men is the drinking oft of ale: for the more they drink, the less can they think and keep a watch o'er their wits.

You just called him a drunkard idiot in fluent old Norse and it strikes him like a blade to his cheek. Not as bad of an insult than his, but certainly less childish.

His mouth goes dry.

Abruptly standing to your feet, you take a final swig of your drink, slamming it rather vigorously on the bar. “Maybe, you should have listened to your father more often.” With a spin of your heel, you’re walking away from him. Loki swallows, calling after you. “Where are you going?”

You halt in your step, turning to him momentarily with an unknown expression and a lingering gaze. “Away from you.”

TAGLIST:

@lareinedususpense

@poubxlle

@mystoragehatesme

@the-maroon-panda

@kashasenpai

@nyxrae

@johnmurphys-sass

[duchessfics]

A Second Chance

(https://humanveil.tumblr.com/post/184864859382)

Narcissa x Reader

Requested by Anon: idk if you write for her but i saw you put her on your characters i would kiss list so if u can would you do something about narcissa? like you introduce her to your friends and when she’s in the bathroom they say she’s too old for you and she hears you defend her and when you get home she gets insecure and you comfort her and just like uhh idk i love her sm and finally someone else recognizes how pretty she is. anyway if you do it ty and if you don’t write for her sry i’ll request elsewhere ly.

Warning(s): None

Summary: You go out to dinner to introduce your friends to your fiance, however their reaction is not as inviting as you expected. As a result Narcissa questions if this is the right thing, but you reassure her that it is.

Word Count: 2115

A/n: I know this isn’t AHS, but I did want to write this request. I promise I have some more AHS coming up so if you aren’t a fan of this there will be some more content soon.

Ok...to preface this story I should mention two things: 

#1 I know Narcissa can be a polarizing character. I did put her on my list of characters I would kiss, but that doesn’t mean I condone everything she does (although she did low-key save Harry which was kind of cool). 

#2 *moves to hide behind chair before whispering* I haven’t read the books. 😬 HP stans please don’t come after me, I promise I don’t mean to offend if I get something wrong. That’s why I didn’t include magic, because I didn’t want to try to write something that I don’t really know much about. To the Anon who requested this I hope you like it. Tbh it’s a little out of my wheelhouse of writing, but I don’t think it turned out that bad. 😅

“You’re sure you want to go out tonight? They won’t be upset if it’s just me.”

You pose the question for what has to be the tenth time as you observe your fiancé making the finishing touches on her coiffure showing off both her dark and light hair. Narcissa’s reflection looks at you and she replies, “I’m sure.”

Then her coffee brown eyes look down to the vanity’s table and she picks up one of her necklaces with a smirk playing on her lips as she teases, “I’m starting to think you’re more nervous than me.” Before she can ask, you come up behind her and latch her necklace that sparkles with small diamonds. At the same time, you explain, “I just want my friends to see what an amazing woman you are.”

She turns around and rises before cupping your face with her cool hands. Her smile helps to settle the nerves that have been building up and she softly soothes, “It’ll be okay, darling.” The calm reassurance brings you back to reality and you let out a sigh before admitting, “You’re right. I’m overthinking it.”

She takes her hands away and nods with a smile, but her face shows understanding, not condemnation. Then Narcissa takes your hand and asks, “Ready?” After taking a deep breath, you nod and answer, “Yes.” So you both step out of your bedroom and make your way to the local restaurant for dinner…

When you enter the building, the hostess shows you to your reserved table where two of your best friends sit. They greet you with familiar smiles, but when they see Narcissa behind you, their welcoming expressions falter. That reaction makes the pit in your stomach feel even heavier. But you hope they’ll keep an open mind. 

After sitting down next to your fiancé you take her hand under the table and give a reassuring squeeze. She gives you a small smile and you turn to your friends before stating, “This is my fiancé, Narcissa.”

Both of them remain cordial when greeting her, but you don’t miss their clenched jaws or stiffness throughout the whole meal. Even the conversations are strained and difficult to keep pleasant. Fortunately, years of experience with purebloods did teach Narcissa to keep face and remain as polite as the situation warranted. 

On the other hand, you can’t hardly eat your meal with how anxious you feel. You love your friends, but you also love Narcissa and seeing them act this way towards her is foreign to you. Maybe it’s too soon to go out with others. Perhaps the stigma around purebloods is still impacting daily relations.

After finishing her meal, your fiancé politely excuses herself to use the washroom. Before she walks away you see her small, reassuring smile. But as soon as she’s out of earshot, one of your friends grows serious and asks in a low voice,

“You’re seriously going to marry her?”

Her condescending tone makes you bristle up and you icily reply, “Yes. I’m going to marry her.”

That’s when your other friend chimes in, “But what about her helping Voldemort? Or how her family was almost all deatheaters, including herself?” 

Your body pulsates with heat at their accusations and your heart feels betrayed at their lack of understanding.

“Narcissa will be the first to admit that her past beliefs and actions were not honorable and deals with the shame and guilt of that. But that’s all she knew at the time. She’s changed since then. And while she isn’t perfect, her understanding and acceptance towards those outside of pureblood status is very much improved.” You retort.

However, they still look skeptical and one asks, “But what about Lucius? Or Bellatrix? She’s just left them all behind?” 

Then your other friend adds, “And what about her age, y/n? She could nearly be your mother.”

By now angry tears smart at your eyes and a lump of emotions crawls up your throat. But you swallow that down and answer, “She was loyal to them because it felt safe. Narcissa isn’t stupid. She witnessed what happened to Sirius and Andromeda. And she would have never left her son behind. As for her age, I don’t recall ever mentioning that factor between you and your partners.”

You take a breath to calm your temper and soften your voice before admonishing, “I thought I could trust you with this. I thought you would be supportive and understanding.” 

Both avoid your eyes, but don’t offer up apologies. So you mutter, “I’ll just pay for our meals and leave.” Just after you say that, Narcissa comes back around. She gives you a half-hearted smile that doesn’t quite reach her eyes. You try to give an encouraging smile back, but it falls flat. So after you pay your bill you say a quick goodbye to your friends before going home…

Once you’re back in your house, Narcissa lets her pleasant façade crumble away and says, “I think I’m going to retire for the night.” 

Right away you look to her and ask, “Are you feeling alright? I could draw a bath or get you some evening tea.” However, she shakes her head and carelessly brushes her lips against yours before responding, “That’s alright, darling. I think I’m just worn out from the day.”

She does look tired, but there is something more hidden in the dark depths of her eyes. Before you can investigate further, she backs away and soothes, “Don’t feel like you need to come up yet.” And before you can respond she’s already halfway up the stairs. 

She must have heard what they said. But should you respect her wish to be left alone? If she seems upset at you following her to the bedroom, you’ll leave. So you make your way up the stairs to see her removing her jewelry in front of her vanity.

Even though you know she heard you enter, Narcissa keeps her eyes focused on the mirror as you ask, “Narcissa, did you hear everything that they said today?” 

She lets out a breath and looks down to her hands that now rest on the table. Then she assures you, “It’s no big deal. Maybe they’re right though. Maybe you shouldn’t stay here with me.”

That suggestion breaks your heart and you rush up to her, cupping her face with your hands. She lets you guide her to face you and once her dark brown eyes meet yours you soothe, “They spoke out of turn and only retold the past. But they weren’t right to be concerned.” For a second, you see the raw emotion in her eyes, but she turns out of your hold and walks into the closet to change.

Rather than cornering her, you speak loud enough for her to hear, “They spoke their feelings and perspective. And while that is valid, that doesn’t make it the whole truth.”

Narcissa remains quiet, so you venture closer to the closet doorway and see her turned away from you, wearing a silk, forest green nightgown. She neatly places her clothes into the hamper and when she turns around to see you in the doorway, her eyes widen in surprise. But her neutral expression returns, and she comes up to you before weakly assuring you, “Y/n, I’m just tired.” But even she doesn’t seem convinced. 

Rather than trying to keep reasoning with her you decide to take a different approach and respond by taking her hand and leading her over to the bed. While you walk she asks, “What are you doing?” But you silently climb onto the bed and guide her to do the same.

Once you’re both on the bed, you guide Narcissa to lean against your chest. Then you pull the covers up over you both and hold her close to you. She remains a little stiff and asks again, “What are you doing, darling?”

You bury your face in the crook of her neck and her soft tendrils tickle against your skin as you inhale her familiar scent. The first note that fills your nose is her rose perfume that she told you she’s worn since Draco was 8 years old and told her she smelled good. Then there’s a hint of earthy pine that’s present even without stepping into the woods. And underlying all of this is a hint of wintergreen mint that almost feels physically cooling and reminds you of snowy days in winter.

“Please talk to me, Narcissa. I want to know what you’re feeling right now.” You gently murmur in her ear and keep your lips close enough to press along the delicate skin just behind it.

She stays silent; however, you feel her body begin to relax into yours. Her breathing is a little shaky and you know making herself so vulnerable is not something that comes naturally. So you let her unfurl in her own time, providing a reassuring embrace and soft kisses of encouragement.

Eventually she whispers, “What if they are right? What if any good that I do won’t be enough to outweigh my past?” 

You slowly run your palm up and down her exposed arm and even though you know the answer to this question, you ask, “Do you feel bad about your past beliefs and actions?”

The question causes her to turn and look at you before she nearly pleads, 

“Yes. I…to be quite frank, I fucked up. I can see how horrible my actions were and I do feel bad.”

By now her eyes are glassy with unshed tears and she whimpers, “If it hadn’t been for Draco…I couldn’t let him get hurt and I didn’t trust Lucius to make sure of that.”

You tuck a loose piece of her hair behind her ear and she looks down, with one single tear sliding down her cheek. So you use your thumb to brush away the tear and soothe, “Then it isn’t about measuring the weight of all your good and bad actions. You’ve learned from past errors and grown. That’s half the battle.”

Her gaze meets yours and you continue with a small smile, “No person is only good or only bad, sweetheart. That line of distinction between the two runs through us.” 

To emphasize, you skim your pointer finger down the center of her chest. She looks at the digit and you conclude, “What matters is how we respond to those impulses. And I struggle with that battle too. Everyone does.” Then you pull your finger away and hug her close. She hugs you back and her voice reverberates against your shoulder that she’s curled into when she softly says, 

“Thank you, y/n.”

You press a kiss to the crown of her head while replying, “You’re welcome, sweetheart.” Then she backs up enough to kiss you. 

Her lips softly melt against yours and she immediately opens up to you, moving her hands to capture your face between them. You mirror her movements, cherishing this intimate moment and letting her lips and tongue guide you along in a delicate dance.

When you part, both of your chests rise and fall as you catch your breath. That’s when you notice the familiar flush of Narcissa’s cheeks is present once more. So you ask, “How about some tea to warm you up?” She nods and slips out of bed after you do. 

Before she walks into the washroom, you inquire, “Do you want cream or sugar with it?” Your fiance pauses for a moment. Then her eyes light up mischievously and her lips curve into a suggestive smile as she purrs, “I do, but not the kind you’re thinking of.”

Your eyes widen but you grin at the insinuation and she continues, “After all, I wasn’t able to get any dessert after dinner and you know how insatiable my sweet tooth can be.” Narcissa’s darkened orbs sparkle with coyness making your body heat up at her behavior. 

Then you let out a small giggle and respond, “Well I think I can provide what you desire. Tonight’s special is better than the selection of desserts anywhere else.”

The bold claim makes her chuckle and she tells you, “I look forward to it.” Then she starts to step away, but you say her name and take her hand. 

She looks back to you with wide eyes and you murmur, “I love you, Narcissa.” The statement causes her cheeks to turn even pinker and she gives you a shy smile as she replies, “I love you too, y/n.”

You release her hand and both of you linger for a moment as if dreading being apart for even a couple minutes. But you do part ways, assured with the knowledge that you’ll be reunited soon enough and have each other until the end.

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